Myocardial Ischemia
by MelaRossa
Summary: Light Yagami was positive of his death. But when he finds himself reborn under the name "Beyond Birthday", he decides the least he can do is thank L for his troubles during the Kira case... By completely destroying him and taking his place. LightxL BBxL
1. Prologue

**I came up with the idea of Light being reborn as B a long time ago, but I figured it was just another failed and unnecessary plan to get Light and Beyond together- this time in the same body! However, after reading a wonderful fanfiction by one of my favourite authors, I figured the worst that would happen was I would offend a bunch of fans and ruin the characters for everybody... Oh, God, I'm so sorry. ~MelaRossa**

* * *

Typically, though not without exceptions, to remember events of one's past is of great relevance to the rememberer. Life would be impossible to live without memories, despite their occasional annoying trickery or failings. But even with their extreme importance, they have a terrible habit of being of containing matter which is little or no use at all. For example, memories of things that really mean nothing and hold no value at all. These are generally ignored or, if a person really is unable to forget them, considered to be unusual. Perhaps there was a reason they were unable to forget the tiniest details of that particular time? Generally, due to the fact that they are of no importance, they are disregarded. Or, attempted to be disregarded.

It was an unfortunate case for Beyond Birthday, who, despite them all being completely irrelevant to his four-year-old self, he was to recall a life-time of memories. Albeit, it was a very short life-time, little over two decades long. However, it was still a life, and it had been at the time quite a dramatic one.

Light Yagami had, and of this he was certain, lived.

Light Yagami, equally as certain, had died.

So to slowly feel his consciousness being poured into the body of the pale English child was something of an oddity. For the man who had been expecting eternal nothingness, to be reborn years before his original birth, fully aware of every detail of up until his death, was not something he could have foreseen.

Further more, this new reborn body had the nerve to provide the famed _Shinigami Eyes _free of charge, a life time late and lacking the required notebook that put them to use.

Light found himself already furious with this life.

* * *

It took four years for the memories begin to settle properly. Former years were dedicated to growth and development to the extent of any awareness of Light Yagami was unable to register in the mind of the child's body. For that reason, the first real day of Light's rebirth was, and this was undoubtedly not coincidentally, the day of the man who fathered this second body's death.

He had said it many times before, but on that day was the first time he had understood the sentence, the goodbye, he informed the man before his departing for work.

"_Are you going to say goodbye to your Daddy?" _The man asked, smiling in a sickening way that parents insist on doting their offspring with, and cocking the child's chin up to face him against his will.

The boy hissed his reply.

"_You are not my father."_

The awkward laughs hid any pain, as they did every time those words were spat out. In truth, Light was obviously the cause of his second-parents' depression, and the death of his mother. He couldn't pretend that the fact bothered him in the slightest. Likewise, when news of the father's death was announced, the emotion the boy felt was not pain or missing, but that of amusement. He had been involved in a drug dealing that had ended badly and been murdered by thugs. Perhaps the only twinge of sympathy he ever felt was for the unfortunate people who had to pick the dismembered limbs of his mother off the train tracks a year later. Even then it was fleeting.

* * *

Apparently Quilish Whammy, though known by Light as Watari, had founded an orphanage in which L's successors were raised and trained. It came as no surprise that it was _not_ the place designated for Light after his second-mother's suicide. More than that, the fact of knowing he would live again without that disgusting, sloppy, awkward man lifted a huge weight from his shoulders. How free life would be without those owl eyes staring at his every action, judging his every move, and forcing every word to be the result of hours of planning, God help him (despite his firm belief of there being none other than himself,) should he screw up. For whatever idiotic cause, may it be a Shinigami's ill joke or other, the idea of being truly alone was the sweetest sensation he could hope to experience. The thought of L, growing to befriend his enemy and, to some extent, _trusting_ him enough to slip up, enough to lose and to die over and over again brought saliva threatening to spill past his lips. The taste of his victory (that had been, in the end, stolen from him from that bastard albino scum, the boy not worth the mud under Kira's shoes,) was far past the description of being "perfect". It deserved its own word.

Light inwardly laughed to himself, while riding in the back of the mini van he had been dumped in, on destination to this new orphanage of which he had been assigned.

It was _Beyond perfect._

Perhaps this new life would be at least a little entertainment, even with the great inconvenience living brought.

* * *

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, _no._

_No._

The sound of the breaking mirror awoke neighbouring rooms, groggy children annoyed by the interruption of their sleep, already prepared to be fully emotional the following morning and to make sure the source of the noise would be aware of it.

Many rolled over to return to dreaming, either not caring by the noise enough to move or assuming it was just in their minds. Few rose to check the cause out of curiosity and fear, and even less out of concern.

The bathroom door had been locked from the inside with the aid of a small stool, previously used for younger children to access the sink. Oh, how Light missed being tall. To have to stoop down to face those shorter than himself had been something he had taken for granted.

Suddenly, the idea of stooping made him feel _sick_.

Staring into the fragments of broken glass, the world was all but crashing down on his skull. Of course he hadn't thought anything of the unusual (lack of) sleeping habits. Insomnia was more common than uncommon in children of his age and, despite his mind technically being around thirty (adding these new years), his body was still six, and apparently he was still to obey to its laws. For that reason, staying up for days on end had been no great drama. It was understandable that he should cause the skin around his eyes to darken and his face to turn more pale in colour.

Yet, the pale skin, the thick black hair, the almost artificial-looking rings hanging below his wide eyes. Everything, everything, everything. The realisation was more painful than bricks being dumped on his head (which would have been more preferable, since death would be imminent).

Light very well considered grabbing a shard of the broken mirror and ending his life instantly. He would not, ever, even for the chance to be alive again, become L. He would not endure the life of what he had worked so hard to rinse from the world. Under no circumstances would he ever become the creature- no, the _vermin_ that he had died to exterminate.

The boy cradled his head in his hands. How had this even happened? Had L somehow experienced a second life as well, changing his name and turning it into "Beyond Birthday"? But then, why wasn't he still "Light Yagami"? Come to think of it, the original Light would have been born by this date. Did he still exist? Was he unaltered? If that was indeed the case, and the original Light's life remained unchanged, then...

Would it be possible to somehow postpone his death? If he became L and instead of working to defeat Kira, worked to aid him...

Light, no, _L_ rose to his feet from the floor. Someone had heard the commotion and been banging at the bathroom for several minutes, but he hadn't so much as noticed. The weight of the world had vanished entirely. On the contrary, for the first time in what had felt like an existence, he felt genuine happiness.

Walking to the locked door, Beyond Birthday caught his reflection in the broken glass, his mouth involuntarily bearing a smile he hadn't worn since his death.

What a wonderful smile it was.

* * *

**Thank you very much for reading, and I'm so sorry for my horrible writing and any dissatisfaction this story has caused. So sorry!**


	2. Encylcopedia

**Just a warning, there are going to be points in this and following chapters where the past tense switches to present tense. That's not a mistake. Just so you know in advance. C:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

* * *

"When I grow up," _'What is it with women? Why are they so persistent in following me?' _"I'm going to be a vet, and I'm going to heal all the animals, even hedgehogs, and all the pets. Because I love animals. Do you love animals? They're _soooooo_ cute, and they're _so_ fluffy. Except snakes. Snakes are yucky. They can all die. I won't take any snakes, because they're yucky and only boys like snakes." The small, brown-haired girl, dressed in a eye-burning pink dress that forced Light to shield his gaze, had come to the conclusion that the blank stares of disinterest were an invitation to "play", though the only game that could possible reach the genius was Russian roulette with tranquillisers.

His patience running thin, the boy growled a response to her, forcing his face deeper into his beloved encyclopedia, the only book he could find that didn't involve whimsical animals having trouble making friends and going on happy adventures to the river. Unintentionally, he had creased a page on the human heart, so it had a habit of falling open to the beautiful eye-catching words _"Heart failure"_, a fact that brought him a lot more amusement than it should for a six-year-old. (Then again, he was really five times that age, but that fact still did little to expose any sanity that may or may not have remained.)

"You're a boy. Do you like snakes?"

Had she been a decade older, he would have assumed she was accusing him of homosexuality. He gave a brief "No." to, hopefully, make her get the message and leave.

She did not. "Liar. I bet you do. But I forgive you, because it's not your fault that you're a boy."

Light snapped his head around at her, sick of her whiny annoying little sugar-scented face, giving her a look of complete hatred.

"You aren't going to be a vet. You'll never get through your education, because you're going to _die_ before you can get accepted into a university."

Some would consider it a shame that he had kept the ability to make sunshine-happy girls burst into tears with a sentence, but when you're destined to be the world's greatest jack-ass detective, who needs a reputation? Nobody remembers their childhood, anyway.

* * *

Light, originally, as a child, had been pure gold. Of course he had. He had every reason to want to impress everyone, and nothing gave him greater pride than watching neighbouring children being scolded while _their_ parents praised _him_. Though always denying it, he liked the positive attention, and looked down on those needing negative attention to satisfy their needs.

Beyond, however, despised the idea of being complimented for being such a good boy. For one, he could not care less what others thought of him now that he had a new name and face that, ultimately, would be replaced by a single letter and hidden behind a computer screen. Of course, whether or not he enjoyed the praise was unimportant, since he was an orphan, and such put him permanently lower on the social scale that children develop. The best he could wish to achieve would be a "He's a good child... For an orphan.". Second-best wasn't worth breaking his back for when it really meant nothing.

This all being said, it was understandable that he would not be fussed about being scolded. The dreaded punishment for being "bad", which apparently cursing at stalkers qualified for, was to sit alone in the attic for a certain period of time depending on the crime.

Threatening them with heart attacks was a much more promising act, in Light's opinion.

It wasn't the terrifying place that it was promised to be. There had been paint on the walls, once, but time had peeled it away and taken the colour. The lack of furniture or decoration gave it a breezy, open feeling, as if the wind would sweep in through the large, double windows that sat just a foot above the floorboards, whisk the occupants away and never return. Was the idea of being carried away into the sky so horrible? Then again, gravity wouldn't take them far, and the feeling of flying would only last until the impact of the ground.

The peace of being alone was adored. It wasn't the attention that he now loved, but the loneliness that consequence for his actions brought. Soiling his goody-goody name was a hard price to pay, but seeing as Beyond had never earned it, it wasn't such a cruel loss. Besides, he could regain it once he was L. It had felt like more of a dream before, but with each passing day of pointless waiting and wasted hours, the dream was closer to becoming his reality. Soon, the time would come for his ideal rule. For Kira's invincible reign. For the perfect world he had spent all those years creating, finally he would be able to perfect this masterpiece.

It was so like L Lawliet to set that world up in flames.

* * *

Subtle, always unobserved. The little bits, so hard to detect. If they weren't, it wouldn't work. The more easy it is to see, the worse it to work. But the little bits, hiding in the corners of the brain, just out of clear sight. The mirror was one, looking into it alone when two reflections were supposed to be there. Of course there was nothing there, staring back at him. But there should have been. There was an empty space where there wasn't supposed to be one.

_'Who does it belong to?' _Common sense and sanity will ask, but the mind will laugh and smile, because it always knows more than it should do.

And the feeling of sleeping, but it was rare because he doesn't sleep often, but being awake and asleep at the same time, and then the voice will talk to him because he doesn't mind when he's asleep (nobody minds when they are asleep).

And then the voice talks to him, because a voice wouldn't be a voice otherwise, and he talks back, because the voice is a good voice and they like each other.

Sometimes he wonders if the voice is angry because he isn't there and he should be, but the voice just smiles (he can hear the smile).

He likes when the voice is there. The voice doesn't like the children at the orphanage, and says they are rats. The voice says they should be fixed, but he doesn't agree with that.

The voice says Light is too soft.

Light says the voice is too morbid.

* * *

There is, in many groups of large quantities, always one very disturbing person who will insist on making the life of others a misery. The pretty blonde girl (in this case,) who earned her way up the social ladder by lying and abusing the fear of others. Respected by authority, always too blind to see what is too obvious, and never believing it when they are told that's what it is.

The girl who has no concept of right or wrong when it comes to her own matters, and if it is beneficial for herself, it must be the correct cause of action. This particular girl, named Maria Goldman (Light noted the irony), had no problem getting what she wanted, whenever she wanted, and if she could use someone else to get it then it was all the better. Why dirty her own hands when there were plenty of ways to get others to do her work for her? Blackmail, aggression; fear was her ultimate weapon, and she dealt it with a strong and confident hand.

Light found himself _longing_ to show her up.

Nothing, in those long and useless days, would have made him happier than watching her crumble and fall. Nothing would have brought greater joy to his life than seeing her broken down, her slaves lost and her name mud. He desired the feeling so strongly that in ached in his chest, physically hurting to know that she still stood proud everyday, wearing that ugly mask of perfection as if it was something natural to her.

But if she was a Queen, he was a peasant. She was confident in her ability to abuse others because should they ever betray her, nobody was going to believe that the ever-sweet-Maria was capable of so much as dreaming something cruel. Why would the loyal, trustworthy thirteen-year-old angel suddenly turn? It was so much more favourable to believe that any person speaking ill of her had their hidden agendas, their jealousies.

The authorities never did their job right anyway.

* * *

Sitting in the corner of the attic, supposedly to reflect on his behaviour of telling that wannabe-vet girl her expiration date, Light found himself closing his eyes and listening out for the sound of that beloved voice.

Obviously the fact that he had acknowledged it at all was not any sign of insanity; just a by-product of being alone intellectually. He had never really minded the idea of friends that only existed to him, Ryuk being one (though he was far more annoying). Actual humans tended not to compare, and the only exception he could force himself to accept would be that frustrating detective.

_'Since I am L now, I wonder if it will feel strange without him.'_

That must be who the voice belonged to. L's voice in his head, to bother him and make his life less... What? Less lonely? Less depressing? What right did L have to change that, and why on Earth would he think that he could?

_'You're different. You don't sound like him any more.' _Light tells him.

But the voice still stays silent.

The serenity that had become such a hassle to achieve was abruptly destroyed in the time it took for the opening hatch of the attic to be thrown aside, introducing two familiar faces (names, and set of numbers,) tumbling inside, struggling and fighting each other, slapping and scratching in a fight for control that was clearly being won by the larger and older of the duo, the famous Maria.

Dragged by the back of her sickly pink dress, which was now choking her neck due to the angle of the grasp, the wannabe-vet girl squealed and shrieked, wailing out for help that evidently wasn't going to arrive.

The 13-year-old had lost her patience, and with it her perfect-little-darling façade. Her face reddened by rage, she slammed the younger girl against the wall, kicked open the double windows of the attic, and recaptured her victim before she could escape.

"You think you're so _special_? You think you're so _great_ just because they chose you? You don't deserve their praise! You're nothing! Nothing but a _pathetic little shit_!"

She held her hostage against the ledge of the window.

"...And what right do you have to think that you're _better_ than me? What makes you think that you can rat me out just because you're going to live somewhere else?"

If it hadn't been clear before, it was now blatantly obvious that they, or at least Maria, had not noticed Light's presence. He rose to his feet, silently, gently, avoiding every creaky floorboard and keeping out of vision, his hands clasped around the object forever in his reach: the encyclopedia.

The _sensation_. That same sensation that hooked more than any drug; better, more addictive, more desirable. The feeling of righteousness. The adrenaline shaking through his hands. That same word pounded in his ears, his mind, his entire body, throbbing to the extent that it took all his will to stop from twitching in a heap on the floor:

_Justice._

The word rang through him over and over, drumming like the beating of his heart.

_Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice._

It was unnecessary; he knew the lifespans of these girls, and knew neither of them would die if he didn't intervene.

But it was irresistible.

It was unavoidable, and even if he had wanted to, he couldn't stop it for a second.

_Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice. Justice._

He must have called her name. He must have raised the book in his hands up, because her victim, the innocent, wannabe-vet- No, Alexis Arroye, rolled out the way.

He knew her lifespan, and knew very well that she wouldn't die.

_Justice Justice Justice Justice Justice Justice Justice Justice Justice Justice Justice Justice Justice JusticeJusticeJusticeJustice._

And the wind would sweep in as she stumbled backwards, towards the double windows just a foot off the floorboards, and whisk her away.

Then again, gravity wouldn't take her far, and the feeling of flying would only last until the impact of the ground.

* * *

"_What's going on?"_

"_Didn't you hear about Maria?"_

"_No. What about her?"_

"_She's in hospital."_

"_What? Why?"_

"_That Beyond kid beat her with a book and pushed her out the window."_

"_Are you serious?"_

"_Yeah, I saw where she landed."_

"_No way!"_

"_Honest! I saw it when they were carrying her away."_

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah. Strawberry jam everywhere..."_

* * *

He didn't push her.

He _didn't_ push her.

He could have pushed her.

But he hadn't.

The window was a miscalculation. The breeze was badly timed. He should have known her shoes would be hard to walk on normally, especially after being whacked by a book of that size and weight.

He attacked her. She tripped. She fell.

That was all that happened. There was assault, certainly, but there was no attempted murder.

But who would believe the little antisocial freak?

Well, Alexis did, since she had witnessed the incident, but she wasn't much better off than he was. _"Of course she believed him. He probably threatened her. Poor girl's probably scared senseless of him."_

She had been following him around a lot more since the incident. As long as she didn't start being immature again, it wasn't so bad. It wouldn't matter for much longer, anyway. No orphanage wants that kind of history written up under their name. How many days would it take to pass the problem to someone else?

"...I'm going to a new place too, you know. That's why she was mad." Said the little pink-loving shadow.

"I figured."

"Everyone took these tests at school before you came here, and I was the top of my class."

She was talking to herself again. _'Not that I can judge.'_

"It was in the newspapers, but they spelt my name wrong."

She dragged her knees up to her chest and held them in place, smiling down at her socks.

_'Will I have to stop wearing socks when I become L? My feet will get cold...'_

"This old man came to the orphanage, and he said I could leave here if I wanted to, so I said yes."

_'And eating sweets all the time. That much sugar... Blergh, still disgusting to think about.'_

"It's to another orphanage, though... Hey! Do you think if you took the same test, you could come too?"

Light shifted, turning his body to face her, for once. Even with the amount of time she spent babbling on to him, he scarcely gave her his devoted attention. Her eyes sparkled. Had they always been blue? For a detective, he really should notice her more.

Something about the sentence had sparked an interest in him. Maybe it was the word "test", which neatly translated to him as "challenge", or just the desperation for a change of scenery and (hopefully) less moronic house-mates. Regardless, she had provoked his curiosity, and even should it result in being nothing at all, which it had a much greater chance (_'Percentage?'_) of being than it had of being otherwise, there was no harm in asking.

"Do you remember what this orphanage is called?" Light asked. How strange that he should feel the sudden shame of being laughed at, a cruel and hurtful laugh that rang through his head, the noise raising hairs on the back of his neck, tensing up his muscles and sending a small course of unwanted adrenaline through his body. A twisted sound, the amusement of some unseen being that always knows more than it should, mocking the adorableness of ignorance.

The idea of Light's dear voice laughing at him was immediately dismissed, so the sound was to be without a source. The voice was far too kind to mock him. Even if he'd only known him for a short time, he had become a good, loyal friend.

"Yeah! It was Whammy's House!"

* * *

**Is this a horrible idea? Should I stop writing this? I would love to hear your thoughts.**

**Thank you very much for reading.**


	3. Puppet

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

* * *

"Voice," Light asks, for lack of better way of addressing his friend. "Do you have a name?"

Light is curious. Maybe Voice was once like him, and ended up in a different body?

Voice smirks. He has been waiting for that question.

_'Trying to get rid of me, Kira?' _For anyone else, that sentence would have angered Light; it is difficult for it to not sound like an insult or taunt. But Voice is different. The purring of his voice and flick of his tongue makes "Kira" sound like a compliment, like he is genuinely proud that he is able to call him by the title.

"Even if I had a Death Note," Light replies, "I wouldn't do anything to you."

So that was his confession.

Voice smiles again. _'Is that so?'_

Light admits to liking Voice too much to want to kill him.

'Well, then...' Voice moves, the sound of his words changing position, no longer inside Light's skull. The warmth of breath tickles the boy's neck, and the feeling of lips pressed against his ear sending a shudder of delight down the boy's spine, whether or not there is even another body in the room no longer bring of any relevance, the overwhelming feel of _him _and _his_ touch driving electricity down every nerve, sanity or insanity or the whole wide world insignificant.

_'You can call me "Ryuzaki".'_

* * *

_The electricity bill of one day alone must have been enough to put the average man in heavy debt in those months spent at the Kira Headquarters (something of a immature name now that Light thought about it); saying the cost of keeping the place running was "through the roof" probably wasn't an overreaction, even with it being a skyscraper. It was all necessary, though, and the seemingly endless piles of money L had accumulated may as well be growing between his toes as a fungi for all he cared, as long as it was there._

"_We'll still be meeting on a weekly basis. That is all."_

_Their heads tilted up at fairly uncomfortable angle, the members of the group blinked up at the giant wall monitor (minus the head detective, who probably never blinked once in all the time he had been literally chained to his Kira subject), the feeling of tension slowly weakening from the phone call just moments before._

"_That went well." L declared. The boy attached to his wrist gave a small "Yeah." in agreement, too unsatisfied by his blunder to feel any enthusiasm._

"_You really are quite amazing, Light-kun.". Was that... a compliment? "Not only did you manage to delay the killings, but you also set up Namikawa as a potential mole for us. Sounded like exactly like the kind of thing I would do; and you thought of it quicker than I did. At this rate..."_

_It was a little depressing. All this praise from the most emotionally dead bastard, and it was all fake. Just another test that Light would inevitably glide through without error, doing nothing to prove anything to anyone. Of course, that was to be expected. Why had he bothered to think otherwise? Nothing L said was ever genuine._

"_...If I end up dying, somehow, it's quite possible that you would be capable of succeeding me."_

_The game was in motion, the pieces were set, and the opponent dealt his move. At the time, his final goal was different, but the motives for playing were the same: proving his innocence. There had never been a possibility that Light's life wasn't on the line._

_But he was given his challenge, and he responded as the innocent should, revealing his opponent's plan to the entire room, even when the most beautiful prize of succeeding the world's greatest detective was placed in his reach, offered to him like a child a shiny new toy._

_And yet, even after denying it, the man persisted. He was far too tenacious for it to not be infuriating._

_It was one of his best qualities._

_Light hated that._

"_Ryuzaki..."_

_Grabbing L by his shoulders, which were instantly tense to the sudden touch as if disgusted, the teenager lowered himself to meet the eyes of his nemesis._

"_Do you think that I'm actually capable of becoming a murderer? Kira? Even after I helped you catch him? Do I seem like that kind of person to you?"_

_Everything was all fake, something that would never had any hope of changing. Every word was plastic. Every smile was artificial. Their lives had become an entertainment for the Gods, and their scripts had already been written; it was just a matter of performing them._

"_Yes you do. I've always thought so."_

_They had been practised to perfection a long, tiresome time ago._

* * *

Beyond Birthday jolted awake, the sensation of something extremely unpleasantly foot-shaped slamming into his face awakening him, even if it had only been in his dreams. Rare as they were, they made up for it in their vividness, often leaving him bewildered for several moments as to how he had ended up in whatever location he had collapsed in. It wasn't enough to say that he was a true insomniac, rather that he just had difficulty sleeping. Too regularly did he battle the urge to sleep, always losing. The bags under his eyes weren't nearly as pronounced as L's, a fact which annoyed him thoroughly. Sleepless nights without ill effect was an achievement in Whammy's House, and even if it was an ugly one, Light still hated to be beaten. Besides, what good was he if he had a single flaw?

He rolled over, the glowing red numbers radiating from his bedside clock illuminating his otherwise dark room, ruining the chance of regaining sleep, should he have wanted it.

He did not.

Even should the appearance of a restless night have to be forged with make-up, the dream had shaken him, and even in his mind, seeing L that close up was enough to keep him awake for a while.

_3:07_

_'I could go the library for a couple of hours, I guess... It's probably already occupied at this hour, though.'_

It had been over nine years since Light had arrived at Whammy's House when he was six-years-old, nine years for him to learn the awkward ways of the household, and nine years to follow the trend.

It had been nine years since he had been given his single letter, the only name that he was now known by publicly, along with it his place in the orphanage. His title.

B.

Back-up.

_Back-up._

As in, not the original. As in, not L.

As in, _fucking_ L's _fucking_ back-up in case he dies, which he wouldn't, because his _fucking_ lifespan ends when Kira kills him.

Oh yes, he had met the son of a bitch. He had been face to face with the child-version of the man he had ending up murdering; the man he had overcame; the failure of their battle. And after his defeat, he had the insolence to... to...

To exist?

The Death Note wasn't going to be dropped in the human world for several more years. Until that time, the original Light Yagami had yet to defeat L, even if it had already happened for Beyond Birthday. It couldn't exactly be the detective's fault for being alive before he died.

No, that was fine. Light had gained the position of succeeding L before. He would just have to do it again.

Looking back on it, Beyond noted as he sat up on his bed, clicking his neck from side to side, not much had changed. Earning his trust, becoming his heir, and _destroying_ him. Even in his dreams, he suspected he would never be free of the man.

* * *

It had been a brief meeting, to say the least.

Only a few moments, in fact.

Which was plenty of time.

Enough time for Beyond to see his face.

Enough time to see his name and his lifespan.

Enough time to suddenly realise that, no, Light wasn't going to become the real L and have his perfect world obtained with the grace and simplicity that he deserved to achieve it with, as all rightful Gods should.

And it was _more_ than enough time to punch him in the eye.

It must have left a nasty bruise (but he wouldn't meet him again for many years and was not granted the pleasure of seeing it).

But after his outburst, Light is calm. Nonchalant, even.

_'You're very relaxed about this.' _Ryuzaki commentates.

The boy smiles and holds his hands to his sides in a "_What can you do?"_ kind of way.

"It doesn't matter." He says. "I expected that might happen, though it's pretty weird that we look so alike." He admires his reflection in the glass of the window.

"All I have to do is get to Japan. If I can somehow get to the Death Note before I first picked it up-"

_'NO!'_

Light flinches, the sound of the yell burning inside his head and causing his eyes to involuntarily close, taking him a second to regain his composure, completely caught off-guard and unprepared.

_'...No, don't do that. You can't cheat now, not when you're this far.'_

"...Cheat?" The rigidity of his body hurts.

_'It's the same game, isn't it? Even after L died, he still continued to play using his successors. This is just the same. You may know what will happen in the future, but don't abuse that knowledge. There are much better ways of getting to L without running away from him. Don't you want to thank him for being such a good opponent during the Kira case?'_

Ryuzaki's voice is inviting, practically seductive, and if there were any threats he has hidden them well. He tempts Light with offers of competition and challenges that always have a way of enticing him even without that most captivating voice.

At some point he has become a puppet, and it surprises him that he didn't mind, even if it would have made him physically sick to think about in the past.

_'Become the next L, and surpass the original. Become him. Become identical to him, and his perfect back-up. If L's a genius, then B's an extreme genius. If L's a freak, then B's an extreme freak.'_

"...And B will shatter the sanity of the world's greatest detective into shards, and use the shards to cut his throat."

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	4. Chance

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**

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...Looking back on it, Beyond noted as he sat up on his bed, clicking his neck from side to side, not much had changed. Earning his trust, becoming his heir, and _destroying_ him. Even in his dreams, he suspected he would never be free of the man.

But that was just how it was for the two, wasn't it? Always forced together, through murder, deceit, capture, imprisonment... Fate was a ludicrous notion. It would be wrong to say that some unseen force was drawing them to each other, however. Right from the beginning, it had been their own choice to get close and to use that intimacy for their own advantages. Ranged attacks were sensible, but melee fighting was so much _fun_.

Light shivered, dragging himself up from the blue-striped mattress and making his way to his drawers. It was nice having his own room in an orphanage. It was practically a cupboard itself, but the fact that the door opened out almost into the bed made it impossible for any more than one occupant, which suited him just fine. It wasn't that he had become a social recluse just yet; rather just that people were extremely inconvenient, and they weren't unknown to invading privacy, something he had learned to fully appreciate and greatly detested to have invaded.

_'Cold... So cold...'_The temperature had unexpectedly plummeted in his few hours of rest. Sleeping in nothing but boxers had been an unwise action, but unable to keep his eyelids even half up, he hadn't really taken the time to worry about it, more focused on not curling up in the corner like a homeless man.

_'Black jacket, maybe... I could go out? Nah, too cold.'_

Outside was as dull as inside, anyway. The same pattern every single day without change. Things were going to get depressing if he wasn't able to start his plans soon, and quite frankly, the teenager didn't trust himself when he was bored. He had a nasty habit of doing things that ended in a whole lot of people dead, a fact learned from experience.

_'I'm getting tired of waiting, Ryuzaki.'_

He wasn't entirely sure of which one he was addressing.

Ryuzaki was more like L than Beyond was, and he seemed much better suited to impersonating the man. How the task had been entrusted to the perfectionist was an unsolved mystery, but it was certainly an... _interesting_... contrast. Sure, he could do it, and he _would_ do it with finesse, making sure every breath was impeccable even to Watari (or was it "Whammy" now?). But that didn't change the fact that it seemed better suited to his friend. After all, in the early days of contact, Light had mistaken him for the original, and deceiving someone who was literally chained to a person for twenty-four hours every day for months on end is something of an miraculous, if not slightly alarming, skill.

All children have to stop playing pretend some day, and the mask's fracture had been in plain sight when the face of the voice came out of his hiding place; elegantly, he had stood before the boy, revealing his glory to him and him alone. Beautiful skin, pale as chalk; hair like the feathers of a crow's wing, soft, silky, begging to have hands running through it and entangled; dark, sunken onyx eyes gazing back at him, silently pleading for him to come closer, to be touched and felt and _caressed _all over.

Ryuzaki was exactly like L.

Except, so much _better_.

The train of thought (possibly for the best, considering the direction it was heading in,) was abruptly interrupted there, however, by the sound of something hardily beating the ceiling under Light's room. With the surprise (and annoyance) of being disturbed, the occupant fell back, grabbing a hold of the wooden drawers, digging his fingers into the wood to steady himself from falling to the floor. The action did as intended and he was able to regain his stand, but at the cost of some painful splinters under his nails.

The banging sound, which sounded like something being whacked against the ceiling below, persisted between intervals, lacking any definitive rhythm.

After five minutes of consistency and still ongoing, it was clear it had no intentions of stopping without intervention.

The teenager stomped on the floor, aggravated, in a way of telling the source of the noise to _stop. Now._

The thumping beat back in response, mimicking the stomping.

So he slammed his foot against the floor again repeatedly, since now it was obvious that it was the result of a person and not anything else.

The noise mimicked him again in response.

Damn it!

Light gave a single sharp kick, already sick of whatever game he had unintentionally started.

Hopefully the hallway wasn't being submissive to the cold, because whoever was making the noise would have to be slapped in the face for giving that single _thump_ in reply.

He exited his room, turning the door handle a few degrees below its natural position out of routine using the base of his palm. Even without having anything to hide, knowing that people may or not be liable for entering without permission is a valuable piece of knowledge for future reference. The ignorant would call him paranoid.

_'Oh, shit! Splinters...' _Pressing his fingers onto the handrails to the stairs wasn't the most sensible course of action of the day. Hissing, he took the injury to his mouth and sucked on the nail, trying to relieve some of the throbbing, opting for keeping his hands away from holding anything until he could remove the pieces of wood embedded in his skin. Instead, he watched his step, keeping his eyes on his feet and the steps, moving in an awkward kind of shuffling.

...And was promptly ambushed as he reached the bottom.

His attacker, who jumped out from behind a corner, hidden from vision by Light's looking down, grasped his arm, twisting it behind his back, and dragged him towards where he had leapt out, inadvertently poking his hostage in the back with the weapon he was carrying, something incredibly long, almost the size of Beyond, and hard. The failure to stably hold weapon and victim implied this was a new experience, or he would have handled things with a little more tactfulness.

Light craned back his neck, trying to get a look, if only at the weapon, but the angle was all wrong, and the smoke pouring through the halls was more than a mild distracting.

Smoke. Smoke _everywhere_.

Oh, brilliant. And now death was imminent, for curiosity was about to kill the cat, and clearly this was some lousy attempt at burning down the entire building, and as a witness, he would have the privilege of being one of the first ones to go, burned alive in the kitchen, out of all the possible places to set a building alight from.

What an original place to start a fire.

"What an original place to start a fire." Light remarked.

"I wasn't expecting one, or I would've just eaten a can of peaches."

Why? _Why_ must he be haunted so? He wasn't even dead, he had no right to ghost about him as he did. It wasn't right. There should be laws preventing it. Maybe he'd make one.

_L_ hung back, trying to push his companion towards the flow of smoke deposited by the oven. "I would be extremely grateful if you could aid me in preventing any serious damage." So, basically, _"Oh, God, do something before we all die!" _was a fairly accurate translation.

If by "aid" he had meant "do everything while I hide outside", then Light successfully completed the request. Despite almost suffocating in the time it took to actually locate the cause of the unpleasant predicament and turn it off, _which he nearly did. _But maybe it was a shame that the murder attempt failed, because then he might have come back as a spirit; _"Look! Look what you did! Shame on you, you strange little panda-man!" _he would have said. But ghosts aren't real and the teenager lived to see another bitter, detective-filled day. What a pity.

Light threw open the windows, freezing night chilling the pair to the bone, but at the cost of clean, fresh air, the wonderful scent of wet grass after recent downpours of rain heavenly in comparison, even if it was like being locked inside a freezer to get to it. Towels waved the last of the smell of burning away. Whatever had been killed in the oven had not officially produced flames, though Light heavily doubted that would have been so if he hadn't arrived when he had. Either way, it was black to the core, and he dared not touch it, fearing it may consume his soul (if he had one), and feed on his energy.

The executioner stared down at his toes, silent, awkward, ashamed. He held his broom, the weapon, in both hands. Looking up at the chips in the ceiling, it was apparent he had been using it to turn the fire alarm off. Or on. Why hadn't he though to stop the cause of it first?

Light exhaled, taking it upon himself to break the ice, since L wasn't making any moves to burn it down like everything else. "You're a fucking moron." He announced, just to make sure that was apparent.

"I'll admit that my culinary skills aren't the greatest..." Was the muttered response.

"L, do us all a favour."

"Yes?"

"Next time Whammy is asleep and you're hungry, please _make sandwiches._"

The older of the two rubbed his ankle with his foot. "...By the way, I don't suppose you know how to use a can-opener, do you?"

Whammy's House was known for containing high amounts of alcohol in the vicinity, right?

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He claimed to come and go, staying for as little as days or as long as months, flitting between the orphanage and the wide outside world as he pleased. L avoided everyone else consciously, and made effort not to be around when other people were. He hid in the shadows, the bizarre boy nobody made any real contact with.

_'That explains how we didn't meet again until last night...' _Light also tended to avoid the crowds, but their plans of obtaining solitude were the same: Spending a lot of time in their own hiding places. Except, like the insomniac, his hiding place _wasn't_ his room. In fact, he only went in there for sleeping and dressing. So, waking up and hearing the broom... The encounter had been pure chance. And arson. They were just... prone to ending up together. In the same building. Or something like that.

Likewise, it was just a coincidence that Light's throat was dry and craving sweet, delicious water the following night at, once again, three hours past midnight. Nothing more than an odd, unlikely accident. Completely without any influence.

_This_, though, seemed a little extravagant.

In the same kitchen, at the same hour, for the second night in a row, the struggle to keep one's jaw from gaping open was a harsh battle.

Half a loaf of bread was on the floor, more pieces leaning off the counter and towards the ground to join their fallen comrades.

The table was literally dripping with something golden and sticky, honey or a syrup, flowing and ebbing away like a slow-moving waterfall that could make a diabetic weep.

There was a banana skin in the washing machine. Not on it. Actually _inside_ it.

The world's greatest detective sucked some of the syrup from the waterfall off his fingers.

"I took your advice." He informed his "friend", slurping the sugar between words, unaffected by the total carnage.

_'I guess it's official. L is back.'_

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